Sirolo

11 June. Depart Urbino, the Ideal City, for the 120 miles back to the Adriatic coast. Had read about Sirolo, a small town filled with neat terraces branching out to a picturesque piazza, all pinned on top of a cliff with views down green slopes to the beach below. Thought it sounded beachy-yet-with-enough-of-a-town and a good place to spend a week as Christine is coming out from home to stay in the guest annexe. We pitch up in campsite number 13. It turns out to be the worst one yet with swathes of area cordoned off, including the supermarket, grubby loos and overspilling bins. The next day we up poles and are checked out by 9 to head off down the coast in search of something better. Jon even mows down a small sapling in our rush to get out, though the bus comes off worse in the scuffle with a big dent down her drivers side. The cliffs at Sirolo turn out to be the prettiest part of the coast as further down towards Numana, they flatten out again and form an over commercialised strip, colonised by sunbeds, umbrellas and kids play areas (in my day we just made do with building sandcastles..) in most places you can barely see the sea...
The look of the strip is not helped by the worst rain for a couple of weeks. So, we head back to Sirolo and spy a great site half way downhill where the staff show us adjoining spots big enough for pod and van and just next door to little bar where we get our morning cappucinos, and restaurant, where they do a top crustacean nosebag.
We feel happier with the site but the rain turns even heavier....a shower like this might last 5 mins in the UK, but we watch in cappucino-fuelled gloom as a river beats its way to the tent and van for a good half'hour. Jon nips out to rig up the binliner and peg setup to cover the most vulnerable area at the seal of the boot where we lie our heads. Its rained a little on the matresses which we mop up the worst of. We eat a bellyfull of zuppa cozze and a plate of fritta mixta, tomatoey mussel soup and squid and prawns in batter and look forward to tomorrow.

On Friday 13, we collect C from the airport and its a fine day. It soons turns to rain however and we spend a good few hours sitting under the awning of the bar catching up and drinking beers. C has brought newspapers from home and we are discussing the odd bits of gossip, David Davis resigning, Big Brother limping on. It doesnt sound like we are missing much even though I have felt starved of news. C has also brought over lots of DVDs and Jons laptop, our small one being now officially declared dead. We look forward to a few nights of watching the Godfather...
Eat local again and C is exposed to the baby'dance phenomenon ' a kids disco and games run by modern day redcoats. It starts at times when most kids in the UK would be tucked up dreaming of Hogwarts...
C has easily got into the swing of camping, having recently bought popup (but seemingly not popdown) tent for a weekend festival in Sussex. The standalone awning is actually ideal for a guest staying being big enough to stand up in but not too cavernous once the inner bedroom is zipped in. It still weighs a ton though. And we talk about possibly sending it home on a slow cheap freight lorry once we are done with it in order to lose some weight and save some petrol.

C & I head down to beach but it immediately clouds over. Spend the rest of Saturday demonstrating the waterproof qualities of our clip on awning. This is seemingly the wettest summer Europe has seen for decades. From our brief look at the weather forecast only Portugal has been spared the torrential conditions and we glumly reflect that we havenàt enjoyed a settled spell since Bavaria back in week 3. Don our jeans and jumpers to head up town. We decide to drown our dampened spirits when C suggests cocktails. Having her here is a great antidote, getting us back into holiday mode. We sip our strong concoctions watching the sunset through the waterproof perspex sheet of a gelataria before hitting the warmth of an Osteria for fishfood.

A call home on Fathers Day and Dad remarks that N. Ireland hasnt seen any rain for 6 weeks....
The next day we had vowed to get out from under the awning, whatever the weather, and it looks better so we hire some camp mountain bikes. Adjusting myself in the high saddle on a steep hill that runs out of the campsite to the town results in me falling flat under the wheels. I have mostly bruised dignity and a grazed shin. I hadnt even been moving at the time.. The ride up to Portonovo is too steep and too long so we double back and go down to Numana. It is hot too and we wish we had left our kagools behind. Numana is downhill, bikewise, all the way, otherwise it actually reveals a nice old town behind the umbrella colony. It has an old arch and a good harbour from which you can get boat trips round the cliffs to inaccessible beaches. We mosey down to the pay beach and cough up for a sunbed and brolly and have a quick dip. Who would have thought it?

Have lunch at one of the restaurants and C and I feel it is fitting to order the Due Sorelle, (Two Sisters), a seafood pastafest named after the twin rock stacks out at sea near Portonovo. We end up getting served the wrong dish but the thought was there...
Back home on the bikes is a big struggle uphill all the way. Overall though, I loved having the big wheels again and vow to hire proper bikes at every opportunity, those foldups are only marginally better than walking.

Spend all next day on the beach with C. J potters about the van managing to get laundry dry in the bursts of sun. The sea is turquoise and calm. The air feels warmer tonight. Even the discovery of flooding underneath the tent doesnt worry us. It is coming from the campervan awning rather than through the roof and is easily rectified by J redigging the small moat around the tent which should drain off the worst of it. Eat that night in little alleyway restaurant, another plate of vongole, mussels and prawns. The food is excellent but I have overdosed on molluscs and have run out of shapes, pasta wise. And sometimes there are textures that you just dont find here. We talk about the stuff we miss. If I were to order what my cravings told me Id have jacket potato with chicken tikka masala followed by bacon rolls smothered in ketchup. I am not proud of that fact. Still, at least C brought over some strong teabags and we have managed to score some salted butter. Brits abroad or what...
Back at camp, we get told to shut up by the campguard who polices the silences post 11pm. There is also a quiet time during siesta 1.30 til 4 when you cant drive in, start engines or play loud music. C joked on checkin whether she had to take a vow of silence...
Another lazy beach day and the weather is starting to settle. Tan is getting there. Stomach now an attractive magnolia rather than stark white. We wander to a little cafe in the rocks which reheats homemade lasagne. It has little blue tablecloths and plastic plates and is very pretty. We nearly get caught by waves coming right up the beach, swishing around the long deserted umbrellas. These are freaky conditions (yesterday was dead calm) and I imagine the lifeguard looks worried. He keeps his whistle in his lips, removing it only to puff on a cigarette. Tues promises to be a good evening campside as Italy are beating France 2, 1 and we get a ringside seat behind a couple of patriotic Italian blokes and a crowd ranging from enthusiastic locals, bemused neutrals and nervous dutch supporters who are also waiting to qualify at the same time. C snaps away, capturing the atmosphere and the flag waving. It is a tense 1 all and I go to the toilet, predicting another goal. Sure enough a huge cheer goes up as everyone else is up out of their seats just as I sit down on mine. Italia go on to meet Spain on Sunday and news of Hollands victory is relayed prompting a bit of restrained orange clapping and banter from both sides. We go up to the roof of the bar to survey the scene over a sambuca, g&t and baileys (respectively).

Another day roasting at the beach for me and C, whereas J goes off to get a haircut. We head up to the lasagne restaurant again. Today the beach is much calmer and there is no lifeguard anxiety. Tonight we have a night in, just a takeaway pizza at the van.

The van is full of ants! A bit of an broken nights sleep as I find 3 or 4 on my pillow and shoulders. I also realise we have been using the damp matresses from last week without drying them out properly and it all feels a bit yuck....so we get on the case Thursday morning, clearing out, spraying and drying stuff. Am still searchin for the Ant invasion...

Post clearout, we bus it to Loreto, a nearby mediaeval town which is a huge place of pilgrimage, who come to see the house of Mary. As legend has it, in 1292 a band of angels flew the place from Nazareth to Dalmatia and then a few years later to Loreto. Madonna of Loreto is held as the patron saint of aviators, with Charles Lindbergh bringing a pic of her on his flight across the atlantic in 1927, as did the crew of Apollo 9, a bit later. The town has a palatial pizza and a few cafes and touristy shops with a lot of religious paraphenalia. I get some pressies to send home. And we wait a half hour for a bus lying in the sun where J gets a bit of sunstroke. We eat at a nice balcony restaurant in town and catch the 2nd half of the Germany Portugal match. Germans win 3, 1 and there is a very restrained response all round. Italians seem only interested in football when it is Italy playing and even then are very focused on the action itself. The crowd will always gets up on the blow of the whistle, the bunting swiftly removed, whether they win or lose. There is no interest in pundits comments or chewing the fat afterwards.

Friday is Cs last day and we go up town for a bit of breakfast and to get some pills for J who is feeling queasy and headachey after yesterdays roasting. The last few hours on the beach are a bit bizarre. We are not allowed to put our umbrella up as there are problems with the seapolice. It is the hottest day of the year and people are crowding into the only v small area of dappled shade, umbrellas solemly folded. Only pregnant women and those with babies are exempt. We never quite got to the bottom of why this was but it reminded me a bit of the scene in Jaws where everybody is told to get out of the water...
It is around 28 degrees and we are sizzling even through factor 40 so donàt stay long. Have the final fish feast at camp restaurant. Vow to cut down to half portions. Had a great time with C and will miss her a lot.